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Daniel is washing the dishes. He’s standing at the sink as he’s done countless times when he’s been over at Jack’s house. He’s wearing a gray shirt with the sleeves rolled up just below his elbows to protect him from the soapy water and he’s ranting about some TV show he saw last night that purported to be about archaeology but was actually more about some presenter dude getting dirty and sweaty for the female demographic.
It’s nice and comfortable and kind of domestic. It’s business as usual, really, for a Friday night on Earth, when neither of them has anywhere else to go or anything better to do.
So, when Jack walks slowly up behind Daniel and slides his arms carefully around Daniel’s waist and molds himself to Daniel’s body in a slow, tentative, delicious press, he can pretend that it’s a shock to him as well as to Daniel.
But bodies in shock don’t respond like Jack’s is responding. Dicks don’t get hard, hearts don’t race and lips don’t find the skin behind the ear and leave the gentle echo of an almost-kiss. And a voice in your head doesn’t say, “Oh, god, oh christ, he feels exactly like I knew he would and I could stand here forever.”
Jack’s peripherally aware of the television in the living room blaring out an ad for carpet cleaner; the motor in the refrigerator is clicking on and off, working too hard in the summer heat, and Daniel, Daniel, isn’t pulling away or turning this into a semi-drunken joke.
Daniel is standing perfectly still. His hands are deep in the water and tiny bubbles are silently popping in their hundreds as the liquid tackles the greasy pasta sauce on the plates. His body isn’t rigid but it isn’t relaxing back into Jack’s embrace either.
It’s a moment out of time and it’s stretching endlessly, which is fine, because it means that Jack can inhale Daniel’s Daniel-scent and try not to think about pushing his cock against the inviting curve of Daniel’s ass. It’s good to have something else to think about when your whole world could crumble around your ears in the next few seconds.
Jack closes his eyes and waits.
This wasn’t planned. He wasn’t even thinking about Daniel when he walked into the kitchen. He was thinking about how he should have called Teal’c and invited him over too, after Shau’nauc, because that’s what friends do. But he hadn’t done that and it was because ...
Jack wanted to be alone with ...
“Daniel.” He whispers the name into the soft hair. Presses the side of his face into Daniel’s precious, precious skull.
Jack’s not a risk-taker. He thinks maybe, somehow, somewhere along the way he’s acquired a reputation for it. The military leader who goes the extra mile for his people, resulting in glorious exploits of derring-do (on occasion). But his risks are calculated. He assesses and plans and has contingencies.
This. This is a risk. Perhaps the biggest one he’s ever taken. No plan B or fall-back position, for him or Daniel.
The fridge clicks off again and the TV ad is for ice cream.
And he tunes it all out when Daniel changes everything with a soft, “Yes.”
ends